


Troublemaker, Matchmaker

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:31:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cas' mail gets left in Dean's postbox, Dean returns it with a brief note. Next thing he knows, he's wearing a pink beanie and baking extra pie for a man he's never even met. Strange, how life works out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Troublemaker, Matchmaker

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Troublemaker, matchmaker](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2642708) by [impalaforthree (anita4869)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anita4869/pseuds/impalaforthree)



Gabriel walked into the impressive new block of apartments, his delivery bag on his shoulder. Paradise Apartments was all marble and potted-fern sophistication, with wide stairs carpeted in blue and a lobby decorated with nondescript paintings of landscapes. On one wall was a series of metal lockers: they were post boxes belonging to the building’s occupants. Gabriel approached them, pulling a large package out of his bag;  _Quality Knitting Supplies_ was stamped in fluting pink ink in the top corner. Gabriel didn’t need to look at the addressee: this had to belong to Castiel, number seven. He balanced the package on the edge of the slot, ready to drop it into Castiel’s post box.

“Oh, excuse me. Sorry. I apologise,” came a voice, echoing down the hallway. Gabriel glanced up the stairs to see a dark-haired man leaving the lift, accidentally hitting someone else in the lift in the face with a large helium balloon. “Please excuse me.” He left the elevator; Gabriel caught sight of the tall, brown-haired man behind him, rolling his eyes and flicking his apartment key – with a large number twelve on it – from hand to hand. The doors slid closed.

“Good morning, Castiel,” Gabriel asked. He’d met Cas once before, when the guy’s knitting supplies hadn’t been able to fit in his post box and he’d had to go upstairs.

“No, it’s not,” Cas said flatly, dragging his balloon behind him. “I just hit an attractive man in the face with a balloon. I’m pretty sure that’s not the best way to catch his attention.”

Gabriel nodded, ignoring the wisecrack comments that came to mind.

“I must go, I have to help set up my cousin’s birthday party,” Cas said, heading for the door with a gloomy expression.

Gabriel cocked his head to one side, turning back to the post boxes. He could push the package into number seven, and be on his way. And yet…

His eyes slid sideways, coming to rest on box number twelve.  _Sam and Dean Winchester,_  read the shiny new label. Gabriel pursed his lips thoughtfully, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes.

He barely hesitated before pushing the package into the wrong post box.

“Troublemaker, matchmaker,” Gabriel muttered to himself with a grin. “It’s all the same.”

**

Two days later, Dean unlocked his post box to find a large, prettily-wrapped package inside. He frowned, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes to read the pink lettering stamped along the side.

“Sam,” he called to where his brother was waiting at the top of the stairs. “Did you get into knitting without telling me?”

“Uh, no,” Sam replied, as Dean removed the package from the box and read the name on the front.

“Castiel. The hell kind of name is Castiel?” he said, his lip curling. He looked along the row of post boxes, located the matching name on number seven. “You got a pen?” he asked.

“Sure,” Sam said, proffering a biro which Dean used to scrawl messily on the package.

_Postman accidentally gave this to me, number twelve. I didn’t open it! Dean._

After a moment, he drew a smiley face, then pushed it into the slot in number seven’s post box.

“You could’ve just put it in his box. He never would’ve known,” Sam said, taking back his pen.

“I’ve been away two days. He might’ve been wondering where the package was,” Dean explained with a shrug. “It could be really important knitting supplies.”

**

In point of fact, Cas  _had_ been wondering where his package had got to. When he stomped downstairs early the next morning, coffee-deprived and on his way to work, his frown became a positive beam when he saw it sitting on top of his pile of unpaid bills.

“Finally,” he remarked to himself, and then paused to read the note scribbled on the front. He looked up to read the name on number twelve.  _Sam and Dean Winchester._

Cas wondered what the man looked like. Number twelve was five floors up from him; he’d never bothered to get to know any of his neighbours. He thought briefly of the man in the elevator a few days ago, the only face he’d paid attention to since arriving here a week ago. He dropped the idea as soon as it occurred; there was no way he was that lucky.

Reaching into his bag, Cas scrounged for a piece of paper. He riffled through important documents – there must be ­ _something_ in here that he didn’t need – aha. His party favour from Anna’s birthday: a novelty writing pad, with a cartoon of a pie at the corner of the page. Cas hesitated, then shrugged. He liked pie as much as anyone; he wasn’t ashamed to be associated with it. Perhaps Dean liked pie, too.

 _Thank you for giving me the package and not keeping it for yourself,_ he wrote in small, flowing letters.He tucked the note into the post box, and went off to work with a lightness in his step.

**

When Dean found Cas’ note in his box, scrunched up beneath a big brown-paper package that had arrived for him that day, he smiled slightly. It had never even occurred to him to keep the package – not that he’d have much use for knitting needles.

He tore the paper off the package, unable to wait until he got upstairs – and there it was. One hundred and fifty glossy pages of baking recipes: delicate cupcakes, creamy desserts, and an entire section dedicated to the most delicious, mouth-watering pies that Dean had ever seen. He decided to start with the Caramel Apple and Cinnamon, and move on from there.

“Dude, you know that these recipes are all online,” Sam said to Dean when he’d returned to their apartment and laid the new book down with reverence on the kitchen counter.

“This is the personal touch, Sam. It’s one man and his cookbook. It’s legendary.”

Sam shook his head, reaching over to pick up Cas’ note, which Dean had tucked inside the front cover.

“I guess you’re not alone with the whole obsessive-love-of-pie thing,” he remarked. “Who buys pie notepaper?”

Dean snatched the note and looked at it again. He hadn’t paid any attention to the cutesy doodle before, but now it made him smile widely.

“Reckon  _Castiel_ would like some of my apple pie?” he said, winking at Sam.

“Give him some,” Sam replied. “It means I’ll have to eat less of it. Kidding!” he added hastily, as Dean menaced him with a mixing spoon.

**

Cas could smell it as soon as he walked through the frosted glass doors and into the lobby. Warm, sweet and delicious.

_Pie._

He wondered who had been baking; did a mental inventory of his own fridge. He thought he might have some old yoghurt stashed at the back somewhere. He sighed, and then went over to his post box and unlocked it.

There, sitting neatly trussed in silver foil, still slightly warm to the touch, was a generous slice of apple pie. It smelled divine.

Cas stared at the pie for several long seconds, waiting for it to shimmer away into the horizon like a desert mirage. He closed the little metal door, opened it again. The pie was still there. Cas picked it up with some trepidation; underneath was a note on the back of an old receipt.

 _Saw you liked pie and thought you might want some. Dean_ , it read. Simple, almost meaningless, and yet it made Cas feel as though he were floating dizzily several feet above the floor. He flipped the receipt over;  _Singer Records_ was the name of the store. Dean had bought himself two Led Zeppelin albums and a poster.

Upstairs in his apartment, Cas chewed his pie with intense appreciation, whilst looking speculatively at his half-knitted hat in the corner. Sure, it was pink and floral, but the front wasn’t finished yet. Cas could make it work, he was sure.

**

“So, um…” Sam began, trying to keep his voice steady. “Dean, are we gonna talk about it? Or should I just act like it’s not happening?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Sammy,” Dean said, feigning nonchalance as he cooked the dinner.

“I mean, it’s not that I don’t think it suits you,” said Sam, hiding his smile behind his hand, leaning casually on the counter. “The colours, they’re… lovely, Dean. Is this from  _Castiel_ , by any chance?”

Dean tweaked his new pink beanie, trying to stop the self-conscious smile from creeping over his face and failing. When he turned around, Sam’s grin only got wider.

“He put Led Zeppelin on the front?” Snatching the beanie from his brother’s head, Sam cooed. “Ahh, look, he did a little guitar! This is  _adorable_.”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean said with a grin, snatching the hat back. “Go to your room and study, or whatever it is nerds do these days.”

“Oh, like you’re not a nerd,” Sam threw back over his shoulder as he left. Dean made a sarcastic face in return, before looking down at his soft knitted hat. He ran his thumb over the strong, black woollen letters of _Led Zeppelin_ , his smile warm and irrepressible.

“Castiel,” he said to himself thoughtfully, as he kept cooking dinner.

**

The elevator doors swept open, and Cas stepped out into the lobby. He began walking down the stairs, and then froze.

Someone was standing in front of the post boxes. A man, tall, with brown hair. The same man that he’d accidentally hit in the face with a balloon. Without thinking, Cas ducked sideways, throwing himself down the corridor leading to the basement stairs. He pressed himself tight against the wall, and peered carefully around the corner.

The man was about to post something into a box. He had the letter balanced on the slot, one fingertip keeping it from tipping over. As Cas watched, the man bit his lip nervously, and pulled the letter back, staring down at it in his hands.

It was at this point that Cas realised that the box that the man was agonising in front of was his own – number seven. He felt his heart perform a kind of skip, double thump in his chest. Surely it was impossible.

The man huffed a deep breath, then shoved the letter quickly into Cas’ post box and strode away, up towards the elevator. He was wearing a soft grey t-shirt, dark jeans and a slightly scruffy five o’clock shadow; Cas thought that if anything, the man had only become more attractive since the last time he’d seen him. Once the coast was clear, he approached his post box slowly, hardly daring to believe it. He unlocked the door and swung it open, removing the uppermost envelope and tearing it open.

 _Thanks for the hat, Cas,_ it read.  _I’m no good with crafts, but maybe you’ll like this._

Cas reached further into the envelope and pulled out a black band, tied roughly in a circle. Attached to it was a small silver charm, in the shape of a pentagram. Cas slipped it over his hand; it was a squeeze, but it did fit. He admired it on his wrist for a few moments, before going back to the note.

_It’s mine, but I want you to have it. I’m sorry I can’t spend a lot of time trying to make something for you. My kid brother would probably laugh me out of the apartment if I tried, anyway. Anyway, thanks for the hat. I love it. Dean._

Cas read it six times in quick succession, and then his favourite parts a few more times. He tucked it into the pocket of his coat. His working day passed faster than it ever had before, the bracelet burning like a piece of fiery comet on his wrist, leaving a trail of golden light wherever he walked.

**

Dean almost skipped out of the elevator as he returned to the apartment, clutching a note tightly in his hand. He pushed open the door with a bang, held his arms up triumphantly.

“Sammy!” he called. “Who’s up for some food, yeah? I’m gonna make you a pie. Two pies. Sound good?”

“I… might just stick with the salad,” Sam replied slowly, looking confused but grinning all the same. “What’s got you so happy?” He saw the note and tore it from Dean’s grasp.

“’Dear Dean, thank you so much for the wristband,’” he read aloud, as Dean blushed and made futile grabs for it. “’I like it a lot and wear it all the time. I hope your younger brother doesn’t mock you too much for wearing the hat.’ Hey, you told him about me?”

“You might’ve come up,” Dean mumbled. Sam shrugged and kept reading.

“’I’m sorry that I don’t have anything to give you in return,’” he said, “’since I have not yet started another knitting project. I suspect that one hat is enough, anyway. Cas.’” Sam put the letter down. “Do you even know what this guy looks like?”

Dean shook his head.

“So you could be making a deep connection with a ninety-year-old,” Sam snorted, and Dean bristled.

“So what if I were?” he said hotly. “Cas could be billions of years old and I’d still like him.” Sam held up his hands in mock-surrender. “I’m just saying, if it were me, I’d want to know,” he said. “I’d knock on the door, say that I was after sugar or something, just to get a look at the guy.”

Dean shrugged, and shook his head.

“I’m not gonna do that,” he said firmly. “If Cas wants us to meet, we’ll meet. I get the feeling he’s kind of introverted, you know? I don’t want to ruin his day.”

Sam nodded slowly.

“You’re terrified, aren’t you?” he said after a moment.

There was a pause. Then –

“Shut up, Sam.”

**

_Cas, thanks for your note. I’m glad you liked the bracelet. My brother does laugh at me about the hat, but I don’t care, I think it’s cool. So do you have brothers and sisters? I don’t want to make this weird, just curious. :) Dean._

_*_

_Dean, next time I make you a beanie, it’ll be black and red, very macho. I’ll spray manly deodorant on it. I have a lot of brothers and sisters, but they all live far away. Here in the city there’s just my cousin, Anna. She and I get on OK. I miss my family sometimes, but they can be overwhelming. How are your pies coming along? Cas._

_*_

_Cas, I wish I knew what it’s like to be overwhelmed by family. My mom and dad passed years ago, so it’s just me and Sammy now. He’s a great kid, though, smart and stuff. Probably going to get a scholarship to go to college, or at least, I hope so. My pies are good, thanks, I tried a new recipe today. How’s the knitting? How do you even get into something like that? Dean._

_*_

_Dean, I’m very sorry to hear about your parents. That must still be difficult to bear. It’s wonderful that your brother is doing so well, though, I’m sure you’re very proud of him and that could make it easier. Thank you for the piece of pie, it was delicious. Better than your first one by a small margin. Knitting is an excellent pastime. It’s repetitive, soothing, and productive. I recommend it highly, even though you cannot eat the proceeds. Cas._

_*_

_Cas, you dork. I’m not going to pick up knitting. Still, I can see why you do it. You know, Sam thinks I’m totally nuts for talking to you like this, without even knowing what you look like. I think it doesn’t matter, though. I like talking to you. The only thing that would be good about seeing you is getting to talk to you in person. Dean._

**

The rain was coming down hard. Cas had been listening to music all morning while he ate breakfast, so he didn’t really register the steady thrumming of the water falling against his windows. When he arrived downstairs and pushed the door open, he was immediately engulfed by the deluge. He glanced around furiously, but his taxi wasn’t here. He was about to go back inside to wait, when a voice came from behind him.

“Hey, you need to share an umbrella?”

Cas stepped gratefully under the shelter, brushing droplets off his coat. He glanced to the left to see the face of his rescuer, and saw –

Dean. Dean, with his big green eyes, his light freckles, his soft, generous lips. He was looking right back at Cas, trading stare for stare. He was wearing his pink Led Zeppelin beanie.

“Nice hat,” Cas said weakly. Dean smiled, looking down at the ground.

“Yeah,” he said, adjusting it slightly. “It was a gift.”

“From – from your girlfriend?” Cas asked, and when Dean sent him a slightly sharp glance, he knew he hadn’t pulled off the casual tone exactly right.

“No, from a friend. I met – well, I sort of met – this guy a little while back. His post got accidentally put in my post box, and we’ve been writing each other letters and stuff. Pretty crazy, huh? I really like him.”

The rain continued to fall around them, a constant wash of background noise. Cas dragged the toe of his shoe through a trough of water collecting between two paving slabs.

“I’m sure he likes you too,” he said, after a pause. “After all, he made you that hat.”

Dean was blushing, now, Cas was sure of it.

“Yeah, I think maybe he does,” Dean admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t holding up the umbrella. “I dunno, it’s just a feeling, but I really wanna know this guy better. He’s funny, he’s got this weird way of writing, all formal. He makes me laugh.”

Cas could feel the blush rising in his cheeks; he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away.

“Sorry,” Dean said. “Didn’t mean to go on to you about some guy you’ve never met. I’m straight out of a romcom, right? Gushing like a tween.”

Cas shrugged slightly, not daring to look at Dean, sure that his joy was written all over his face for everyone to see. He jumped slightly when a tinny, fast-paced rock song started playing.

“Crap, that’s my cell. Could you hold the umbrella for one second?” Dean asked, beating his pockets in search of his phone. Cas stretched a hand up, grabbed the umbrella handle. He made sure that his hand didn’t brush Dean’s; somehow he didn’t want the first time they physically touched to mean so much more to him than it did to Dean.

“Hell –” Dean began, breaking off so suddenly that Cas turned to look at him. Dean’s gaze was fixed on Cas’ wrist; since he was holding on to the umbrella, the sleeve of his coat had fallen back to reveal a simple black band, adorned with a single silver charm. “Cas?” he asked, his cell phone hanging limply in his hand, forgotten. Cas could hear faint noises of irritation and confusion coming from it. Catching his glance, Dean snapped it shut. “It can wait,” he said gruffly. “Cas, is it really you?”

After a moment, Cas nodded. He held out his free arm, as if opening himself up for inspection.

“Am I a disappointment?” he asked. Dean looked at him as though he were insane, an expression made especially comical by the slightly lopsided pink beanie on his head.

“Are you kidding? Cas, you’re – you’re, uh, you’re. You’re  _gorgeous_ ,” Dean finally managed to say.

Cas felt a bolt of lightning strike his chest, leaving his fingers tingling, his brain fuzzed and electric. Dean was watching him, his green eyes wide and sincere.

“I think you’re very handsome, too, Dean,” Cas said, unable to stop himself from reaching up and setting the beanie straight on Dean’s head. Dean’s blush was immediate and intense. For a moment, they both stared out into the rain, recovering themselves.

“So, uh, Cas. Do you maybe want to, to go on, like, a date? Some time? With me?”

Cas swallowed around the lump in his throat. He’d thought that he would never find his place in the city; that he’d have to return to his mother with his tail between his legs. Instead, it seemed, he’d found Dean.

“I would love to,” he said, looking Dean in the eyes, not smiling but rather allowing happiness to radiate from his crinkled, glowing eyes, his eager, gravelly tone.

“Great,” said Dean, smiling widely and dopily, reaching up a hand to brush along the underside of Cas’ jaw. It was the first time Cas felt Dean’s skin on his own, and it felt shocking and warming and so  _right_ that it took Cas’ breath away. Dean noticed his little huff, and his smile faded slightly, replaced with something hotter, more intense. He leaned forward, agonisingly slowly, leaving his lips barely an inch from Cas’ own.

 _Good?_ His questioning eyes seemed to ask when they met Cas’.

 _Good,_  Cas agreed as he closed the gap between them, kissing Dean with a warmth and passion that he’d never felt before in a kiss; though it was chastely closed, it was still the best kiss Cas had ever had in his life.

“Um,” he said in a low voice. “About that date.”

“Yeah, are you busy right now?” Dean said, matching Cas for huskiness. “Because I have a bunch of movies we could stick on and not watch while we make out.”

Cas nodded firmly.

“I think that sounds like an excellent way to spend the afternoon,” he said.

“We could make pie, too,” Dean said enthusiastically, reclaiming his umbrella and leading Cas back up the steps. Cas could see his taxi, finally pulling up outside the hotel fifteen minutes late. He ignored it, and followed Dean inside. His attendance record was spotless; he could pull a sickie today without fear of repercussion. His hand, clasped inside Dean’s, felt hot and lovely, as though it had the opposite of pins and needles.

Upstairs, Dean settled Cas on the sofa, selected a DVD.

“You ready for our first date?” he asked, coming back towards the sofa and flopping down next to Cas, slinging an arm around his shoulders. It was nice, Cas thought, but it wasn’t enough. He sat up, throwing his leg over both of Dean’s, resting his weight on Dean’s knees.

“Definitely,” he said softly, as Dean reached up to drag him down by his tie, pulling him into a strong, sensual kiss. “Oh, definitely.”

**

Four years later, Gabriel pushed open the door to the Paradise complex of apartments, his delivery bag on his shoulder. He walked over to the post boxes, a package in his hands addressed to Castiel.

This time, he didn’t have to hesitate. Without a moment’s thought, he pushed it through the slot for number twelve, smiling with a little mischief.

“Troublemaker, matchmaker,” he said to himself. “It’s all good fun.”

Later, Cas would pick up his package, running a finger as he always did over the shiny label that read,  _Sam, Dean and Castiel Winchester._


End file.
